Toxic Game Read online Christine Feehan (GhostWalkers #15)

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: GhostWalkers Series by Christine Feehan
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Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
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“Do you think that was wise? Poachers can be very dangerous. They kill these animals for money.”

She shrugged and led him along a narrow path to the small structure set in the middle of a grove of tall trees. He touched her shoulder, signaling for her to halt before she stepped into the open.

Wait here. Give me just a minute to check it out.

No one’s been here. I can tell.

Indulge me. I’d just feel better if I scouted around. It’s a habit. Call it OCD.

Shylah knew better, but she nodded. She was suddenly very exhausted and if she’d been alone she would have allowed herself a very big breakdown. Instead, she forced her mind away from the fact that she had been exposed to the virus. He seemed to have great faith in his friend. She wished she could as well.

She kept her eyes on him as he moved out into the open area between the brush, trees and the forest ranger’s cabin. What in the world was a man with his looks doing in the GhostWalker program? He could make his living as a movie star. Or maybe just charge money for women to look at him. He’d probably make even more money if he …

Before you go any further, I’m still connected to you telepathically. There was humor in his voice and amusement poured into her mind, inviting her to share his laughter.

She found herself doing just that instead of being embarrassed. It was the way he laughed at himself. You are very good-looking.

So I’ve been told. I used to model men’s clothes. Just in case you saw some of the ads and were about to ask.

Of course he’d modeled men’s clothes. Who better? Any woman seeing him in jeans and a shirt, or a particular suit, would rush out to buy those items for her man. Now that she saw him up close, she recognized him from the magazines.

Hunting terrorists is a far cry from modeling.

And much more fun. He paused dramatically. Fulfilling. I should have said fulfilling. I’m sure that’s what I meant.

She laughed out loud even though she knew she was supposed to be silent in case there was someone waiting to kill them. Cameras don’t try to kill you. Terrorists do.

Everyone tries to kill me. Doesn’t much matter which world I’m in. I seem to bring that out in people. Did you see those boats filled with men trying to do me in?

She knew he was going for humor, but she turned his words over and over in her mind. What did he mean by it doesn’t much matter which world I’m in? He moved with the stealth of a jungle cat. She had quite a bit of cat in her and could easily see as well as him. His body was fluid, every muscle working in a perfect show of strength.

I like you the way you are right now, although I’d understand if you wish you were still modeling and very, very far from here.

He had gained the porch of the cabin after circling around it, studying it from every angle. I think you’re safe to come on in. Actually, my beautiful little peony, I wouldn’t rather be modeling. I understand this world a hell of a lot better than I did that one.

She wanted to ask him what that meant and why, but she didn’t want to force him to be personal. She wouldn’t have liked him doing that to her. Are you going to actually call me Peony? She liked the my and the beautiful.

His soft laughter brushed intimately at the walls of her mind. Take the shower first.

Not a chance. The hot water takes time.

She went up the two stairs leading to the porch. He waited there for her, his hand on the door. She was tall, but he was much taller. “It’s going to be strange talking out loud to you.”

“You just don’t want me in your head.” He pushed open the door and indicated for her to go inside.

Shylah did so, automatically scenting the air much like a cat would. No one had been there in her absence. “I don’t mind you in my head. I refuse to be embarrassed for thinking the truth. You have to know how good-looking you are. Fortunately for you, you seem to have brains and humor to go along with your looks.”

“Which is the most important to you?” He followed her in and closed the door. The moment the door was closed, he pulled off his shirt. “Brains, humor or looks?”

For a moment she lost her train of thought and could only stare at all his muscles with her mouth open. When he burst out laughing, she did too.

“Ordinarily, I would say your intellect. Right now, we need brains to figure out how to get out of the mess we’re in. I don’t much care for turning to mush as a way to die. On the other hand, since we’re probably going to suffer endlessly while we’re dying, I’d say a sense of humor, because who wants a whiny partner when you’re suffering? Then you take your shirt off like that, so the choices are ridiculously tough.”


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